Masks on Floors
by AlyGardiner
Summary: Spoilers up to 3.15. It's speculation from there, and a lot of wishful thinking. How simple messages from one stranger changes Claire Bennet's life beyond utter reason. Who is Rebel? WARNING: CESTY PAIRE


Title: Masks On Floors.

Pairing: Platonic Claire/Rebel, Romantic Peter/Claire and mentions of Matt/Daphne.

Disclaimer; Tim Kring pulled the trigger, I'm just playing with the smoke.

A/N: Spoilers up to 3.15. My version of how it's going to be and who Rebel is.

* * *

THERE IS HOPE. YOU CAN STILL FIGHT BACK—REBEL

This is where it starts, the first words given to her. A clue, something she could hold on to like a last strain of life. Rebel, the name rolls on her tongue like almost a familiarity, because that's what she wants to be, and who Peter is. Who Matt is, who everyone is, except her, sheltered in the house where lies were born. Deceit wafts over her like a common smell, she's gotten so used to it that she doesn't smell it anymore. The stench is stuck on her like a tattoo. When Rebel messages her, she almost thinks it's Peter. But she has to be sure.

Who is this? –C.B.

She bites her lip, hoping the messenger to say it's Peter, and it's alright. But it's not, and it isn't.

A FRIEND. WHO HATES THEM AS MUCH AS YOU.

That can't be possible. She hates them more than anything. Burning hatred pulses through her veins, and she can't believe both her fathers are involved. It's something dirty, and she doesn't want to get her cleanliness destroyed by the touch of it. She won't stand for it, won't let Peter and the others get hurt. But she's scared, too. That she's still cozy here, while the others are out there fighting for their lives.

I'm scared.

She really is. It's the truth and whatever they throw at her, she'll at least be honest to this Rebel. Even his name gives her comfort. He stands against everything she is. His name gives her hope. That there's still a fighting chance for life.

ME TOO. CAN'T GIVE UP. BE READY.

Ready? How can she be ready? She wants to fight, but she doesn't think she's a fighter. Is she? Can she stand beside Peter, her hero, her uncle, the man she _loves_ and actually fight? Can she take them down?

I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING. YOU CAN DO IT. DON'T WORRY, YOU'VE GOT BACK UP.

She smiles at the thought. Rebel, whoever you are, thanks.

* * *

The first time Peter calls her is a random call of the street. She's outside, near a payphone with her arms tucked in; breathing the air she's not supposed to breathe. She should be there with them, instead of being free. If she's free, they should be, too. The Hunter was right: it shouldn't matter who her daddy is. It matters who _she _is.

Rebel and her have been corresponding for weeks now, and she almost feels like she knows him. She knows she shouldn't trust him so much, because she knows maybe he's nothing more than an FBI agent, but something about him makes her trust him. he's like her.

She might not trust anything anymore, but she can trust her gut. And her gut tells her that she can trust him. The payphone rings, startling her beyond all reason. Her fingers itch towards the receiver, wanting to pick the call, and, finally, she's lucky that she did.

"Claire? Claire?" says a distraught sounding Peter on the other line. Claire feels herself breathing again, the first real time in weeks, the first time she actually feels a purpose to live. And that's to listen to Peter's voice on the other line.

"Peter?" she asks into the phone.

"Yeah, it's me," he says.

"Oh my God," Claire claps a hand over her mouth. It's Peter, it's really Peter.

"You shouldn't be calling me," is what Claire says, but all she wants is to talk to him. But she shouldn't be selfish, because there's a big chance Peter's risking his life to talk to her. She should be there with him; he can't heal without her anymore. He needs her to live.

"I've got to," Peter says. "I just needed to make sure you were safe."

"I am. I'm worried about you," Claire breathes into the phone because she can never be sure who's listening. She can hear Peter chuckle on the other line, a throaty laugh she hasn't heard before.

"It's nice to hear that," he says.

"Nice to hear what?" she asks.

"That I've still got a family when it comes to you," Peter says. Her heart flutters just a tiny bit. "Have you been keeping in touch with anyone?"

"I try not to. I know what you said. You can't trust anyone," Claire leans against the payphone. "But I've been getting these messages from some guy named Rebel. I was thinking that was you."

"You know me, Claire. I don't stick around long enough to use a phone. Plus I'm calling from a payphone right now, and I tracked you down with an ability," Peter says with a hectic voice.

She can almost see him, with a grimy face, dark clothes with a bag slung over his back. Peter breathes heavily on the other line, and says, "I've got to go, Claire. Cover our tracks. You know what to do, right? Don't trust anyone. Don't try to find us, you'll only get tracked and hurt."

"I love you," Claire says out of final desperation.

She's got to say it, because she doesn't know when she's going to talk to him again, or if she ever will. But all Peter says is, "Be safe." She puts the phone down, exhaling as if she hasn't breathed in years. A beep is emitted from her pocket. Rebel.

YOU'RE LUCKY WHO HAVE SOMEONE WHO CARES ABOUT YOU SO MUCH—REBEL

Thanks. What about you? –C.B.

I LOST MY FAMILY ALREADY. I'M IN THE FIGHT FOR THEM. I REBEL FOR THEM. YOU REMEMBER THE PLANE CRASH? SHE WAS KILLED IN IT.

I'm sorry.

HOW CAN YOU TRUST ME? FOR ALL YOU KNOW, I COULD BE ONE OF THEM.

You aren't. I'm sure of that. You hate them, you're not like them. You're a rebel.

THAT I AM.

* * *

She's always been stubborn. This time, she takes action, and shows the world just how stubborn she is. Shows both of her fathers just how much she hates them, and how she hates them for betraying her, and Peter.

A bag slung across her back and a determined look on her face. Her blonde hair tied into a neat ponytail while strands of it are still hanging on her face. Dark is the outside, and so is her insides.

Her internal soul is burning up because she's doing this. She's doing this. This is the crossroads of her life, and all of them leading to salvation. She doesn't care anymore about shelter or her fathers because as far as she knows the truth, they're not her fathers anymore.

No family, except Peter, no friends, except Rebel, even before all this she's become a gypsy. Living without heart, breathing without lungs, knowing without thinking, that's who she is now, and she's got to get back.

I'M HERE FOR YOU EVERY STEP OF THE WAY—REBEL

She knows he is, she almost feels him near her, a comforting hand on her shoulder, a breath of air on the nape of her neck, telling her it's okay. That she's going to make through this and be a fighter.

Be a fighter and not stay sheltered, bring the fight to them, the sick fucks that made her this way. They think she's happy, that she's fulfilled, but she's not. In some ways more than one, they're worse than Sylar.

The bus stops, and so does she. The train of her thought broken down into pieces as a voice goes over the intercom. Her brain doesn't really register her, but she's taken count: this is her stop.

I know I've said this so many times but I feel it more now. I'm scared. So scared. –C.B.

IT'S GONNA BE OKAY. YOU DID THIS FOR THEM, NOT FOR YOU. YOU DID IT TO SAVE THEM.

They could come after me, after us. I could've jeopardized their safety over my stubborn mistake.

THEY'LL HAVE A PLAN. BUT THIS WAS INEVITABLE. YOU NEEDED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO. THIS IS HOW.

Does that mean I might not see them after today?

IT'S A BIG CHANCE. IT'S A WAR OUT THERE; THEY'VE GOT TO HAVE AN ARMY ANYWHERE THEY GO.

Hopefully I get to help them.

THIS WAY, YOU JUST NEED TO STEP OVER THE FIRE LINE A LITTLE. YOU CAN'T GET THE HONEY WITHOUT GETTING STUNG FIRST.

I guess.

YOU COULD GET BACK HOME BEFORE THEY GET SUSPICIOUS. ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS GET INSIDE; GET THE PLAN AND GO HOME WITH AN AIM.

You make it sound like there won't be any attachments.

THE WAY THE WORLD WORKS, THERE SHOULDN'T BE. BUT I KNOW THERE'LL BE SOMETHING PULLING YOU DOWN.

I'll try not to be pulled down, Rebel.

CONTACT ME WHEN YOU KNOW SOMETHING.

I will.

Claire pockets her gadget, and knocks on the door in front of her. Registered to a Mr. and Mrs. Parker but she knows better. It has a sense of humor, too. Spiderman was his favorite comic.

She twiddles her thumbs as the door opens with a cautious hand. She's greeted with a warm smile of an elderly man clothed in a plaid shirt and green pants. But when he sees her, his smile drops entirely.

Everything about him just bends down, pulled down. Maybe she's not the one going to the ground with gravity as a tool, he is. He ushers her into the house, a hand on her waist.

"I know that's you, Peter," Claire looks at him, cocking her head sideways.

The old man sighs, and his grey hair turns to raven, his green eyes morph to those tender-looking chocolate ones she knows so well. Everything changes, and before her stands her hero. Peter Petrelli.

She's overwhelmed with sudden feeling, sudden love and a rush of emotion waves over her. She feels new, she feels…alive. Peter crushes her into an embrace, and Claire almost gasps out of surprise.

It's the first time he's hugged her like this, with concern, worry pouring out of his heart and spilling on hers instead. Suddenly, she's as worried for him as he has for the past few months.

"You're okay," he says, gently stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head.

"It's good to know you haven't changed," Claire pulls away from his embrace, but his hands are still on her waist.

"What makes you say that?" Peter asks.

"You're still the same old sap you were when I left you," Claire smiles.

Peter chuckles, and pulls her by the arm to the brightly-lit living room. She can only imagine how they got the place. "Meet the gang," Peter smiles at her.

She's introduced to people she already knows, Matt Parkman, Mohinder Suresh, others she has left behind. Molly Walker, a little vivacious girl of nine, and Alex Xavier, a teenage boy her age. Dark hair, and brown eyes, and if it wasn't for the thickly-rimmed glasses, he would look like a teenaged version of Peter. She's half-hoping that he introduces himself as Rebel, but he doesn't, instead says Alex, crushing her optimism to find her virtual warrior.

"Claire," Peter says, pulling her away from the group. "You shouldn't have come."

"I needed to," Claire says, looking up to him. "I wanted to know how to help."

"They could come," Peter says.

"I'll be long gone before that happens," Claire gives a weak smile.

She hates it when Rebel's right. That it's better when there's no attachments, no involvements but damn, the one distraction is staring back at her with looming brown eyes.

"I want to help," Claire says. "Tell me how to help and I'll do it."

"New York City. Live with my mother, and she'll tell you what to do," Peter sighs, giving in to the cheerleader's plea.

"Angela? She's on the fighting side?" Claire asks.

"She tries not to be, but she knows it's for the greater good," Peter nods. Claire walks away from him, smiling, nodding all the way, until he pulls her back by the arm.

"I don't want to see you hurt, Claire," he says.

"I know you don't. But you've got to understand I feel the same about you. If doing this, helping you guys, will make you safe and I'm going to do it," Claire says.

HOW IS IT GOING? –REBEL

Good. I'll be going to NYC soon. –C.B.

DID HE PULL YOU DOWN?

Yeah. *laughs* I'm still trying to get up.

YOU REALLY LOVE HIM, DON'T YOU?

More than I should.

DON'T WORRY ABOUT ANYTHING. NATHAN STOPPED BEING HIS BROTHER A LONG TIME AGO.

You're actually supporting incest?

IN A WORLD LIKE THIS, YOU TAKE A CHANCE WHERE YOU CAN GET ONE.

Why don't you, then? You keep saying you're in the fight, but I don't see you joining the cause.

I'M MORE INVOLVED THAN YOU KNOW, CLAIRE.

Just shows how much I really know. I wish I could see you, Rebel. I wish I could know your name.

YOU CAN'T. NOT UNTIL IT'S TIME.

When will it be time?

I DON'T KNOW.

I wish you did.

TRUST ME, ME TOO.

* * *

Sometimes she does nothing. She just watches the door, arms crossed with breaths steady and living. Claire is like this today. Sometimes, through those open doors, are people new to her, their faces masked with confusion and worry and fear. It's her job to make them safe, which makes her happy because that means she has a purpose.

Sometimes, through those doors, walk through their warriors, Hiro, Mohinder, Matt. But she's happy when Peter comes in because that's when she truly knows he's fine. When her worries are gone, and he's standing in front her, in most cases, embracing her, thanking God she's okay, and she doing the same for him. it's the only time she's genuinely happy, not scheming with Angela, or making strangers feel like family, but when Peter comes.

When Peter rushes through those doors, whether with a smile etched on his face or with blood splattered on his being, begging her to heal him through a touch, that's when she's truly happy. When he's all healed up, but he stays on the floor, embraced in her arms from loss or a failed rescue mission is when her heart breaks.

Whoever she is, it's with Peter. Her heart wrought from betrayal and torture is healed by his smiles and empathy just as her touch has healed his wounds. Though hers are more than skin deep, they cut through her like a knife, but his are only on the surface but hurts just as much.

She can't tell anyone of these experiences, these feelings emerging from her soul, bouncing off her surface hoping to hit Peter with a failed attempt. She can't tell anyone, anyone, that is, except Rebel. He listens, he understands, though she has no idea how because it's obvious he's never fallen in love with his relative before, but he listens. He cares. She trusts him, almost as much as she trusts Peter.

HOW ARE THINGS GOING? –REBEL

Good. I'm sticking it to the man pretty well.

IT'S ONLY TIME BEFORE WE'RE ALL FREE.

Hopefully.

HOW'S THE GANG?

All good and accounted for. Plus we found something interesting this morning, though the news hasn't reached them yet.

AND WHAT'S THAT?

Daphne's alive. Parkman's girl? Yeah, she's in custody and we're planning a rescue mission tomorrow at dawn.

YOUR FIRST?

Yeah. I'm pretty nervous about it, too. I've only been here scheming and plotting, not really going out there.

WASN'T THIS WHAT YOU ALWAYS TALKED ABOUT?

Yeah, but I'm still nervous. I could mess it up, and Parkman, well, he hasn't exactly been in the best state since he thought Daphne died.

YOU'LL DO FINE.

Here's to hoping. What about you?

DOING THE SAME. PRETENDING, LYING, IT'S ALL A SKILL NOW FOR ME. IT'S NEEDED TO SURVIVE.

I'll contact you later. Peter's home.

That he is. And she's happy. Because this is not one of those times where he comes back bleeding and moaning, this is when he's happy. When a job well done has been accomplished, and the mission has been made possible by his powers and the help of others. Air rushes back to her lungs and she can breathe again.

This time it's so much different, it's imprinted on his face that today's different. That it's not like times of before, something's changed, something's been altered by the hand of destiny and Fate. But it's something good, some good news to bring home, to tell to his niece and mother.

"What's up?" Claire asks him, pocketing her hands and looking up to him with eager eyes.

"I just realized something," Peter says to her.

There's a moment of silence, but it's not an eerie kind, where the only thing that cuts through is the noise outside. It's one of those silences where she knows something good's going to come out at the end of the pause. She just knows it.

"Well, are you going to tell me?" Claire crosses her arms.

"It's better to show you," Peter says, and leads her by the arm deeper into the Petrelli household. Darkness engulfs them as they enter the back room until there's a click and there's light. It's a storage closet, eerie and dusty and unused.

"What's so important to show me here?" Claire asks. P

eter looks down on her, smiling and shuts her up of further questions when he dips down and his lips touch hers. There's a zing of electricity that pulses between them when he does, a burst of heat that shouldn't exist between uncle and niece, a boundary crossed, a line stepped over like it's nothing.

But she doesn't care. Not at the least.

When he delves deeper into her, his tongue battling hers for dominance, she moans out of pleasure. She's half-expecting for him to back away just that second but he doesn't. He makes it more of an effort. His hands string in her hair and her hands find themselves on his neck. She pulls away before it can get any further because she doesn't want her first time with Peter-her first time, period-to be in a dusty storage closet.

"What exactly have you realized?" Claire asks him with a smile on her face.

"That I've got to take a chance when I've got one. Because neither of us knows when it's gonna come around again," Peter smiles at her.

"And how did you come about that?" Claire asks.

"I read Rebel's messages for you. I figured that he's right. So right, about taking chances, leaps of faith when you've got the opportunity, and about Nathan," Peter's eyes darken out of hatred. "He stopped being my brother a long time ago."

"He stopped being a father to me for as long as I know," Claire agrees with him, forgetting entirely he stepped into her privacy between her and Rebel. "He's not a boundary anymore."

"No, he's not," Peter nods, stroking her hair gently.

"What does this mean?" Claire asks looking up to him.

"It means that this, _us_, doesn't change our cause. We'll keep fighting till the end, the only difference is that we'll have each other," Peter says to her.

"Each other," she mutters, repeating what he said. They'll be together, have each other; they'll be a they, instead of just a she and him. "We should get out of here," Peter says to her.

"We should," Claire laughs. Peter opens the door, and surprises Claire by picking her up and carrying her out and up.

They land on his bed, and Claire giggles out of joy. This is happening. Peter trails butterfly kisses down her neck and onto her collarbone and she shivers from his touch.

"If I hadn't made it clear, I love you, Claire Bennet," Peter says to her.

She doesn't say anything, pleasure overtaking her as his hands roam her body and his lips doing things she has only dreamt of. When clothes are torn, and both of them are burning from the intensity of them, Peter whispers something that should probably not be said in bed, in this time, "Tell Rebel thank you."

But it's true. She should thank him. She groans as it gets further. She better send him a lot of hugs and kisses. Peter pulses inside her, and it makes her whine and groan out of pleasure. Scratch that, Claire Bennet is going to give Rebel anything he _fucking_ wants.

* * *

Thank you, Reb. –C.B.

WHAT DID I DO?

Peter read your messages to me, and let's just say I woke up next to him this morning.

THAT'S GREAT NEWS! I'M REALLY HAPPY FOR YOU. I KNOW HOW MUCH YOU LOVE HIM.

Turns out he loves me, too.

WOW, CLAIRE. THAT'S REALLY GREAT.

What's wrong?

NOTHING. IT'S JUST GREAT THAT YOU FOUND SOMEONE TO LOVE EVEN IF THE WORLD'S GOING TO HELL.

Don't worry, you'll find someone.

I'VE ONLY GOT ONE IN MIND.

Metahuman?

YEAH. SHE'S PROBABLY IN YOUR PROGRAM.

I could look for her.

NO, YOU SHOULDN'T. YOU AND PETER ARE FINALLY HAPPY. I DON'T WANT TO TROUBLE YOU. AT LEAST NOT NOW.

Tell me when you want to trouble me.

TRUST ME, I WILL.

Her first rescue mission comes out as a success. Her nerves were shot when they first went into the field, just the three of them, Claire, Peter and Parkman looking for the speedster blonde Claire remembers at the crash sight. When they come in, they're fully prepared and ready, when they come out, they're wrought with wounds and blood, grime and hurt stuck on them like a permanent ink marker but they come back with one more added to their refuge case.

Daphne Millbrook is shaken and down, but Parkman calms her instantly. Claire looks at them, and sees love, just as Peter and her share between them. Matt has Daphne wrapped in his arms, and, as she leans in, she cries silently against the bigger man's chest. But she's fine, she's with the man she loves, just as Claire is with Peter, and she's home.

"Good work today, Bennet," Peter says, startling her with a feel behind her.

His hands latching on her waist like a spider itching up and down her skin. It's a sensational, his touch, and the fact that he's all hers, and she's all his. And that is more than anything he can possibly give. More than a confession of love said in the dark or a night in pleasure when the lights are dimmed and no one can hear them, or a ring that is engraved for her because there won't be a happy ending for them here. It's illegal; it's a wrong doing that feels so right when they're doing it.

"Thanks," Claire says, smiling against his touch. But he senses something wrong anyway. He always does, whether it's so close between them, or far off from the eyes of his.

"What's wrong?" he asks her. Ever the empath, she thinks.

"I haven't heard from Rebel in a while. It's not like him to not respond or contact me," Claire says worriedly.

"Maybe he's under. You said he works against them, maybe he had to go under, so that they don't come looking for him," Peter says. "Lord knows we do it when they get close."

"Yeah, maybe you're right. It's probably nothing and he'll probably contact me soon," Claire shrugs her shoulders to the man she loves.

"Yeah," Peter says, kissing the top of her head. "He's fine."

Hopefully he is. Because, next to Peter, Rebel is someone she really trusts. If he goes too under, or if he doesn't go far enough for him to get away, she can't bear it. Because he hasn't said goodbye yet. And it's not time to say goodbye. Not yet.

* * *

It's weird, sending you these messages just hoping you'll reply to me. –C.B.

I hope you get these soon, because I have so much to tell you. –C.B.

Somewhere in the world, there's you. But somewhere in the world isn't good enough for me. I need to know where you are. I need to know you're safe because I can't bear if they caught you. –C.B.

Daphne and Matt got married today. A small ceremony, just friends and allies because they never know when it's going to end. I wonder if Peter and I will ever get married. –C.B.

I hate not knowing what happened to you, Rebel. I can't think anymore without worrying about you. I really hope you get out of this mess pretty soon. –C.B.

HAHAHAHAHA, C.B. WE GOT YOUR 'REBEL' RIGHT HERE. IT'S ONLY TIME BEFORE WE CATCH YOU, TOO, SWEETIE. DON'T WORRY YOUR GUY IS PRETTY SAFE HERE. THE GAGS AREN'T TOO TIGHT.

Claire's head is awry, more than it already is. Rebel's been captured, and they've gotten on to her, to them. This is all her fault.

"Don't worry, Claire. Whoever it is, it's not Nathan and his team. Probably someone thinking they do the right job with giving him over to the government," Peter says to her, rubbing her shoulders in a comforting gesture.

That would only mean that Rebel is one of the pictures shown on TV and wanted posters, one of the looming faces she sees every day are Rebel's. One of the men on the posters, scared and afraid, is the one who gave her hope in the day of dark. She has to find out who. She needs to find out who he is, and save him. His messages were the only things that were going for her before Peter came along with his confessions of love. Rebel…Rebel…Rebel…

* * *

Two months later, they get a new recruit. A teenage boy, about 14 or 15 with ringlets of hair. Dark skin with a happy-go-lucky face. Tracy's nephew. His name, Micah Sanders, his gift, technopathy, the ability to control technology. It's a nifty thing to use when they're out and wanting of information because Micah can get them so fast that they can't even blink while waiting.

His best friend, and possible girlfriend, is Molly Walker, who's grown into such a pretty girl that Claire sometimes mistakes her for a young woman. In a few years, she'll be tearing down buildings with her looks and her charm. A wonderful girl, giggling and happy, she fits Micah well. Like two halves of a whole, like two peas in a pod, like whatever else shit her mother's told her about soul mates.

Claire's happy now. It might not be the perfect life, but she's with Peter, the love of her life, and she's doing good in the world. The legend of Rebel is long gone, without even a whisper of goodbye from the virtual world of his. She still sometimes wonders what happened to him, wonders if they could've found him sooner, and she would finally find out who her warrior is.

The person who pushed her to fight, the person who brought Peter and her together. Claire Bennet owes the world to Rebel, whoever he is. Today is a normal day for them, at least, it's normal for them; training and exercise drills for the metahumans. It never ends, and they know it never will. Even if the government goes down, there's no telling when they're really be safe.

"Hey," Peter says.

"Hi," Claire smiles and kisses him on the lips.

Her hero, the man she loves, her uncle, that's what she's always dreamt about. But every title has gone and wept their loss, right now, he's just Peter. Forever just Peter. And she's forever just Claire. To the world, both of them are masked as Connor and Julia Parker, because who they are sought after by the government, and because their marriage is wrong, and they'll never have it good.

"How's the team?" Claire asks.

"Good. They're pretty well handling everything," Peter says.

"That's because they have you as a leader," Claire says.

"Hey, Claire, can I talk to you?" someone says. Claire turns and sees Micah.

"Yeah, sure," Claire smiles at the boy.

"I'll see you later, then," Peter says, nodding to the boy. He kisses his wife goodbye and moves away from them.

"What's up?" Claire asks Micah.

"I think we got off to a wrong start," Micah says.

"What are you talking about? I like you, Micah. I don't have anything against you or anything," Claire smiles at him.

"No, I'm just saying. I didn't really tell you the truth the first time we met," Micah says. Claire looks at him and looks perplexed. What could this teenager possibly have to hide?

"Okay, then," Claire says, paying full attention.

"Hi, Claire," Micah says with a mischievous smile. "My name's Rebel."

* * *

A/N; I'm really proud of this one. Review!!

-Aly


End file.
